


Invidia [Envy]

by Blvquebird



Series: The Vice Chronicles. [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cunnilingus, Dark!Sansa, Death, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Heartbreak, Jealousy, Loss of Innocence, Manipulation, Romance, Rough Sex, Secret Relationship, Seven Deadly Sins, Sexual Tension, Unreliable Narrator, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-29 05:50:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8477695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blvquebird/pseuds/Blvquebird
Summary: "I lock my secrets away. Stashed in the corners of my mind, between my dreams and my nightmares. I double check my locks at night. So no one can break in. They wouldn’t like what they’d find..."Sansa keeps herself more heavily guarded than the Eyrie, save for the the green eyed monster that's crept in. It now sleeps in the bed where Jon and her innocence used to lie... leaving her with an arsenal of memories she can't help but recall.Told from Sansa's point of view.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, this will be the first work in series of extended one-shots based on the seven deadly sins. I'm experimenting on the humors themselves as the stage to each story. The character(s) will react, showcase, as well as attempt to resist these humors in each chapter. Explicitly of course ;). Will push character limits mentally, emotionally, physically... Will be primitive. Dark. Carnal... like the capital vices. 
> 
> Enjoy.

I have a secret.

I’ll tell you…

I promise.

But I don’t do this without some… hesitation.

You see, I hate secrets.

Let me rephrase that.

I hate  _confessing_ my secrets.

No good ever comes from it. I don’t feel light, relieved or free. If anything, I feel heavier, like the weight of a Wildling giant rests over me, pressing me to death. I feel heavier. Heavier, knowing someone knows the truth about me.

I feel manic. Nerve-wracked. Hideous.

I lock my secrets away. Stashed in the corners of my mind, between my dreams and my nightmares.

I double check my locks at night. So no one can break in.

They wouldn't like what they'd find.

Letting people in only makes me want to find a way out.  
  
I know some people, who relish it. Find solace in it. Look for any chance to tell their story. For someone to tell them their pathetic lives aren’t so much so. That there’s always hope. That they’ll find their happiness in their own time. To wait on the old. Wait on the Seven and their blessings. Wait on the gods.

I know that’s a lie.

The gods protect only the ambitious. Only the strong. Only the ones who lack the fear in taking what belonged to them.

And I take what I want.

I wasn’t always like this, you know. Innately, I was kind. A princess of distinction. I did what mother and father told me to, obeyed every order and request made of me by the septa’s. I could sew, I could dance, I could recite song. I never argued and was sure to command the love of everyone around me.

And by everyone’s estimation. As I was then, I am now and will become a great beauty.

I was a good girl. Naive, the way a good girl should be. Innocent. Devoid of blemish or mar.

How I was, when I was happy… with him.

Him….

Jon. My older half-brother. My love.

 _My love._  
  
He was my friend. My first friend, really. It was by chance. An occurrence that never would have come to fruition under any other circumstance.

You see, my older half-brother was a bastard.

My father’s love child with an unknown woman during the wars. My parents were in love, but this was always a source of contention between them. Jon. Jon and his… circumstances. That he was a bastard living among my parents’ true born children. Learning and training and eating from the same maesters and tables as us. My mother rarely showed him affection. He was the living, breathing, constant reminder of my fathers betrayal. She was never outright with her disdain for him, just made a point to avoid him completely, made a point to insinuate the same to me.

I admired my mother. Took her stance on almost everything.

Until that day….  
***********************************************************************  
I’d been cooped up in the tower, attempting to perfect a butterfly stitch Septa Mordane had instructed me to practice. I was bored. Weary of tedious woman’s work. It was warm, a fortunate day during the long summer. Was there really nothing else I could occupy my time with? A stroll in the grass, a cool drink from the wells, perhaps I could be taught to ride, not side straddled like a proper woman but barebacked, like a man… like Arya rode…

 _Ooooohhhh_ how I longed to act on my impulses.

To be and act freely.

To have my actions waved aside as occurrences of my nature. The way everyone never-minded my little sisters actions,

 _‘She’s a proper Stark’_ they’d say

_‘Takes after her aunt, Lyanna that one.’_

_‘Favors her enough, she does.’_

Arya. She’d fuss and fight and argue. She never knew how bloody lucky she was. She never knew how futile her defiance seemed. In reality, no one truly cared. No one worried about what she did. They’d washed their hands of trying. Accepted her, as she was. My father loved her. It only made sense, she resembled my father’s closest sibling in everything.  
  
Lyanna.

From her dark hair and fiery nature to her long northern face.

And I was the Tully beauty. Took after my mother. Auburn hair. Blue eyes. Elegant disposition. I could not afford the luxury of freedom. It would besmirch my image.

And what honorable lord would make a bride of a woman with her own conscience?

None.

My fate was to be an obedient and delicate lady.

I’d excused myself from the tower, made up some lie about needing fresh air, a bite to eat since I’d not broken my fast. An apprentice septa was an easy mark. She was too inexperienced to scold me. Too timid to exercise her authority. I put on my best act. Put on my pup eyes and promised I’d be right back.

She let me go.

Easy.

Too easy.  
**********************************************************************************************  
The rare and warm northern sun kissed my face. I sighed in relief. The fresh air never smelled so good. Turning the corner past the towers I’d stumbled into the courtyard, past the smiths workshop. I could hear clanging. The sound of metal and wood hitting each other noisily. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one enjoying the castle grounds.

The Bolton’s had come to visit. Ser Roose Bolton was Lord of the Dreadfort, located on the banks of the Weeping Water east of Winterfell. The Boltons were a cadet house loyal to my family. Naturally, they’d travel to the capital to pay respect to my mother and father. To speak of their affairs, collect aid if they needed it and so on. Lord Bolton had brought his son to Winterfell. His bastard, Ramsay. A handsome boy, around the same age as Jon and Robb. He was carrying one of the metal swords. Swinging it around with reckless abandon. He’d just hit one of the steward boys around the head with it. Cutting a gash along the poor lad’s forehead. He had a smile on his face… I think this was the first time I’d ever been truly disturbed. That smile. It was as if he was relishing the boys pain.

Was that possible? I thought.

To relish someone’s pain?

How did these emotions even come into existence? It was not polite, I assumed. Not courtly or noble.

But that smile… there was so much honesty in it. Perhaps it was nothing. Boys being boys. Rough housing the way they do.

I was fascinated.

I elected to walk closer. To introduce myself. I stepped closer, dodging a pile of sharpening rocks, weaving past a barrel of hay. I plastered a smile on my face holding out my hand for him to kiss it once I’d said my greeting. He didn’t see me. He just kept swinging that sword around, naive as I was I continued to venture towards him.

I got too close.

He swung the sword. It slashed at my collar. My eyes welled up, the pain felt like fire made ice, stinging me like frostbite. I fell back, landing in the dirt. My hands shook raising to my collar. I touched my neck...

My eyes widened when I'd lifted my hands to see the damage. I was bleeding. Profusely. One of the boys stopped the sparring. Pointing me out on the ground. Ramsay turned to look at me. I’d expected him to frown, to drop to his knees and help me up. To apologize.  
  
Instead, his eyes grew with mirth,  and that smile…

That smile…

It was glued to his face. Unwavering. He was laughing. And advancing on me as if he meant to finish the job. I scuffled backwards. I was afraid. I’d only wanted to say hello. The other boys were paralyzed. They were not moving, their eyes simply wide with shock, bouncing from me in the dirt to Ramsay, laughing maniacally, his pretty blue eyes alive with blood-thirst. He raised his sword, my body shook. I closed my eyes, raised my arm in defense and braced myself.

I heard a thud and a howl.

I opened my eyes, expecting Ramsay’s figure looming above me.

On the contrary.

He was on the ground, like I was. The howling…had come from him. I blinked back my tears of pain. My eyes cleared to a dark figure throwing powerful and dauntless punches across Ramsay’s face.

It was Jon.

He’d been watching the whole ordeal from his hiding place in the abandoned and hollowed out balcony above the courtyard.

By the time he’d finished, Ramsay lay limp in the dirt, groaning.

He lifted himself from Ramsay’s chest and walked over to me, lifting me to my feet then gingerly onto his back. He latched both his arms under my thighs and walked us up to his balcony.

His Direwolf licked at his face when he’d knocked open his door and entered his quarters. I’d always liked that pup. He was beautiful. Fur as white as the blankets of snow on the castle towers. He never made a sound.

The room. It was a simple room. His sword lay on a scabbard hold on his stone wall above a fire that roared like dragon breath. A bed that was large and lay low to the floor with wool bedding. It was warm in there.

He let me to my feet and guided me to the bed. I dropped to the mattress, my hands still shaking, traveling up to my neck towards my wound. Jon pulled up a sleek wooden stool from his meal table and scraped in front of me, his boots resting beside each of my feet.

My hands were tearing at my cloak gingerly, so much blood had seeped from my wound it was causing the cloth to stick. Jon reached his hand out to stop me.

 _‘Wait. Your hands are muddied. You’ll infect it.’_ He said. A deep, solemn voice.

He held out a rune stoned basin filled with cool water and cloth. I dipped my hands into it. I winced with pain. My hands had been scraped up by the pebbles in the dirt. I used the cloth to scrub the blood and mud from my palms and fingernails. Jon pulled the basin away and took up and needle and thread.

I’d pushed his hands away when he made to mend me. He tried once more.  I shoved his hands away, more forcefully this time. His jaw clenched. He gave me a weary look.

Remember, my mother? I clung to my mother. And she avoided him…

So the truth is..

Jon was a stranger to me.

I certainly wasn’t comfortable to let him near me with a needle.

His eyes bore into mine. He bit his lip in irritation but pulled his hands back slowly, placing the needle and thread firmly into my hands. He reached his arm out, his eyes still on mine, dragging a mirror in front of his face. My reflection came into focus before my eyes. He waited.

He was telling me to do it myself.

I hesitated. Pondered an apology for my abruptness. Thought better of it.

I was embarrassed enough.

I pulled my cloak away from my neck as carefully as I could. Squeezed the excess water from the cloth in the basin and dabbed around the wound. Jon sat still. His elbows on his knees. Mirror held just above the bridge of his nose. His muscles flexed through his tunic. He looked bored. 

Pulling the tools towards my neck, I swallowed hard. Feeling a heavy wave of irritation at my current circumstance. I’d just endeavored to escape sewing, now here I was. A needle in my right and thread in my left.

The irony was pitiable.

Swallowing a groan. I took a deep breath and began. Summoning every ounce of defiant courage that I could.

 _‘What stitch is that?’_ he whispered, eyeing my work after a few moments had passed.

I paused. Not quite sure how to address him… I’d never spoken to him before… alone that is.

 _‘A b-butterfly stitch.’_ I stammered.

I’d only sewn on a paddle. This was better left to the surgeon or midwife septa. 

I couldn’t.

They’d ask too many questions. It would be an insufferable fuss. And I’d never be allowed to venture off on my own without chaperone.

I looked up from my stitching. Jon’s piercing grey eyes bore into mine lazily, mirroring my thoughts.

His eyes…

It was only then that I’d realized what color they really were.

 _‘I wont tell.’_ he said.

A surge of relief so powerful engulfed my body I had to still my hands lest I pierce a vital place. Jon shot his arm out quickly to still me.

I steadied.

 _‘Thank you’_ I whispered.

It was all I could say.

I think he found that sufficient. A cloaked apology and gratitude rolled into one. He was polite enough not to push a scolding or a lecture. He never asked too many questions.

With eyes like that, he must’ve not needed to.

Those grey eyes… the color of ice and wind. They sent winter seeping into your soul, stripping you bare.

I could hide nothing.

*******************************************************************************************  
Questions were raised about Ramsay’s blackened eye and broken jaw, the steward boy’s gash and my wound. Jon had made to elect to tell what happened but caught my eye before. I spoke up, told a tale about the two boys rough housing in some sort of row. How I’d watched from the windows and meant to call for help but tripped down the steps and thus my wound. I could tell the septa was skeptical.

 _‘A gash like that from stone dear girl?_ ’ She said carefully.

I stared at her. She was vexing me. She knew what was on the line and meant to make this difficult for me. I did not blink. But fiddled in my cloak pockets nervously.

_Ouch!_

I’d pricked my finger… on…

 _‘My gods… it couldn’t be’_ I thought

Sheer luck. That was the only name for it.

My glass pocket watch had shattered when I fell. I pulled it from my cloak and held the hand the glass had pricked out.

Thus the explanation for my wound. 

The old had blessed me that day.

Jon didn’t say a word. His silence my alibi.

They left any notion of tying the three injuries together alone.

I’d never felt more thankful in my entire short life.

Ramsay of course was punished. His father, dishonored by his behavior, had ended his trip to Winterfell early, riding back to the Dreadfort a day later.

From that day, I could not help but seek Jon out. I wanted to be near him. The events of that afternoon had made me feel strangely alive. Not only was I successful in deceiving those that would have hindered my endeavors to venture off on my own, but I had finally felt free.

The only thing I’d really wanted… no… that wasn’t the only thing…

I’d desperately wanted a friend.

He was hesitant… at first. He eyed me suspiciously even though he carried on his business as usual. I made not to be seen most of the time. When I wasn’t doing pageant work, I would linger around the courtyard, watching him do metal and sword play. Arya got annoyed when she would spot me. She would coax me to learn alongside her. When I refused, she exasperatedly told me to leave if I’d only wanted to stand there looming.

I ignored her.

I’d follow him when he’d ride out to the fields to hunt, lady trotting along beside me. I’d feign to search for herbs, for flowers, for medicine.

 _‘If you’re going to pretend, you should at east pick the ones that do something and not just the dandelions, weeds and yarrow.’_ he said lazily.

 _‘…Y’know to make your endeavors more… convincing.’_ He finished eyeing me over his shoulder.

I rouged over. The heat rising in my cheeks like a volcano in the east.

Jon smirked, turning to face me. He walked toward me, Lady and his snow pup nipped at each other playfully. Reaching a hand out, he tugged the flowers from my hands by the root. His face was set in a firm line.

And my gods…those eyes…

I couldn’t. I promptly found a dragonfly near my boot more fascinating.

He placed his hand in mine, pulling me behind him.

I was puzzled. I thought for sure he’d repudiate me.

 _‘Where–where are we going?’_ I asked, my face still rouged from embarrassment. I was having to skip every two or three steps just to keep up with his strides.

 _‘The poppy flowers and peppermint are this way.’_ he said

I smiled.  
*********************************************************************************************  
From that day on, it was established between us.

They days after flowed effortlessly. I finally knew, for the first time, what it felt like to have companionship. Not obsequious company that were trained and forced by trade to tell me the things that were appropriate for them to say and me to hear. Jon always told me the truth. Always. He was not afraid to praise me, neither was he afraid to hurt my feelings. He knew whatever he told me would make me better. I finally knew what it felt like to have freedom.

With Jon I felt free.

I asked him once, when I’d followed him to the forest to ‘collect cedar and maple sap’, to teach me to ride a horse.

He observed me, an eyebrow arched, biting into an apple leaning against the tree.

 _‘But you know how to ride.’_ he said. It was a statement as opposed to a question.

He wanted me to say it.

He was going to make me fight for it.

Those eyes.

I caved.

 _“I-I know how to… I know the maids way. I want to learn to ride like you.. and father.. and Robb.. and… Arya.”_ I said sheepishly.

He asked me nothing else. He was simple. Uncomplicated.

And I loved him.

_Fuck._

I loved that about him.

He threw away the apple core, walked towards me and placed his hand on my waist. Placing his other on my leg, hoisting my foot into the stirrups.

I was addicted.

He was patient. He caught me when I fell, and was kind enough to my stubborn ego to let me help myself up the other times. Before I knew it, I was on my horse and he was on his was on his, speeding through the forest with me, racing with our wolves.

Whenever mother would ask, I’d say I got caught in the wind taking Lady on a walk.

Jon never said a word.

It worked. This…system between us. It was an unspoken agreement that we’d keep our time together private. I was not Arya. I was a lady. Forbidden to partake in frivolity and activity meant for men.

And my mother. She already abhorred Jon. She’d never out-rightly forbid it, but she’d limit my contact with him egregiously if she knew the nature of it.

Still, laughter came as natural to me as breathing after that. When people would tell me I was beautiful, I began to believe it.

I found myself more self-aware. More, self conscious. I wanted to look nice around him. I had the septa braid my hair up. It was rumored to be the way the girls in the south were wearing theirs. When I saw Jon later that afternoon by the lake near the Wolfswood, he’d eye’d me, clearly amused. I grew hot at him and annoyed at his smirks, fidgeting with my braids nervously. He inched towards my face looking down at me with… those eyes. I was growing hotter…

And I wasn’t certain it was from irritation.

He reached a calloused hand into my hair. I closed my eyes, shivering slightly, he raised the other, loosening my braids one by one. I didn’t know what to do.

But his fingers, they felt nice… running through my locks… and I could breathe him… and he was filling my senses…fire… and Cedar.

He pulled his fingers from my tendrils, stepping back with eyes slightly squinted. He smirked a second later.

 _‘Better’_ he whispered.

I blushed, my red hair shaking with laughter. I was laughing at myself more than anything. All that time spent  enduring the septa’s combing and brushing. And he’d liked my hair loose, the way it was all along.

 _‘Now… what would you like me to do with all of these?’_ He said slyly, holding a handful of hairpins in front of me in his palm.

I was mortified. I gave him a push, he fell into the lake.

The problem was, he pulled me with him.

I gasped. Sucking a quick breath of air. We crashed into the water, It pooled around us in a wave. It was cool and crisp. It felt nice on my skin…

I almost forgot I could not swim.

Jon was quick. Reflexes as sharp as his wolf’s. He wrapped his arms around my stomach and hoisted me above the water.

My head broke the surface, I sucked in the coolness of the shade. Lady had jumped in the water with Ghost, the both of them power striding towards us. Jon’s head broke the surface shortly after, his grey eyes alive with mirth.

He was laughing. A full, belly laugh.

I couldn’t help it, a moment later I was overtook with fits myself.

Ghost and lady popped their heads up beside us, surprising me so much so I clutched to Jon. Lady barked, clearly annoyed she’d jumped in the water for nothing. I turned my face, more amused.

Only just realizing how close I was pressed against my brother.

My laughing died slowly, my eyes fell to Jon’s lips… they were full

I couldn’t help it.

I pressed mine to his. I didn’t feel like myself. This was not me. I was not in control.

But I couldn’t stop. I could feel him recoil, slightly. His muscles tensed. Still I kept my lips pressed to his. They were soft.  And I felt like I was floating. I pulled him toward me tighter,

It was easy…

In the water.

It took a moment, I could tell he wanted to fight it. He tensed up more before he relaxed.

But he relaxed.

And gods, he kissed me… He kissed me back. He kissed me back. He dipped his tongue into mine. He bit my lip, I clutched his raven curls, pulling his lips harder onto mine.

My godssss…. I wanted more. It was not enough. And he felt it.

I know he felt it too.

His hands were saying it even if his mouth couldn’t. They were slipping down my stomach, resting bellow my buttocks. He lifted me around his waist.

A surprised gasp threatened to turn to a groan creeping up my throat. Seven help me. I felt his…

Gods…

I felt his manhood. My eyes shut, rolled slightly beneath my lids, my mouth opened, Jon dipped his tongue deeper into it.

I wasn’t in control. My waist began to move on it’s own, my petticlothes feeling nonexistent. I began moving with more force, grinding my waist on his. What was this feeling? This must’ve been what the chamber maids would speak of when they thought I couldn’t hear. What some of them did with the steward boys. What Robb and Bran had joked about seeing the knights do with the women in the taverns in town. They always made it seem so clandestine. So… forbidden… so…

Wrong.

I didn’t feel like that though. I felt good. Too good. The only thing that felt wrong was how

_good_

it felt. I wasn’t in control. My body was not my own. Jon’s lips bit mine harder. I felt like I was losing my mind. I see the sin now. I should not be permitted… to lose oneself so easily.

Jon broke away from me.

His grey eyes wide. He was shivering. His breathing heavy. It had begun to rain. I licked my lips meaning to press to his again.

He kept his large hands around my waist pulling me from him slowly, holding me at bay.

I suddenly felt ashamed.

It felt so good.

I never thought he didn’t want it too. Perhaps… perhaps. I was too hasty.

He pulled me to his side, well out of reach from his lips, and began to stroke through the water towards the bank.

We reached it, he pulled me up, I was soaked. My face warm from the heat of my shame and I was shivering. The rain pouring over my head. The gods must’ve wanted to wash me clean. Jon paused, reached in his saddle bag, pulled a black coat out and wrapped it around me firmly.

He did not look at me.

I was afraid but I said nothing. The wolves splashed towards us.

And he did not look at me.

He lifted me quickly on the horse. Leading it back to the castle.  
********************************************************************************************  
We arrived to the courtyard in silence. It was dark out. The candle light in the windows gleamed.

People, would ask… where I’d been. Jon knew it.

 _‘Come.’_ He said, helping me up the steps towards his balcony. Ghost and Lady raced up the steps before us. He pushed open his door. I followed him inside. The fire was roaring again. I dropped to the bed mechanically. He was still avoiding my gaze.

For the first time, I craved his eyes. The piercing look. I wanted him to look into my soul. To see what I thought.

To see what I craved.

He wanted it. I knew it. He knew it. But I would not push.

 _‘Sansa…’_ He whispered.

 _‘Yes’_ I replied. My blue eyes staring up at him. I wanted him to say something else. Anything else.

 _‘We can’t.’_ He croaked.

I felt as if I’d been pierced with an arrow, though I knew that this what what he’d might say. I bit my lip. I’ve no idea where my boldness came from. But I’d suddenly felt angry.

 _‘Look me in the eyes, when you say that.’_ I whispered.

He stiffened, his face hidden by the fire. After what felt like ages,  he turned to me. Those grey eyes… The locked to mine.

 _‘We ca-can’t’_ he repeated.

I stood. Inching closer to him.

No. I was done with being told what I could, should, and would do. He was my friend. I love… I loved…

 _‘Yes…’_ I whispered. Inching closer. I didn’t mean a word.

 _‘Sansa..’_ He whispered again. His thick black curls laying lank against his neck. His tunic clutching to his chest. I felt my petticlothes grow moist.

And it wasn’t from the lake water.

 _‘I’m cold’_ I breathed. Dropping the cloak to the floor. My head was nudged against his chin. My eyes were closing. I was breathing him in again.

He stiffened, then relaxed. Reluctantly. What would it take to get him to surrender to me?

His hands grazed my arms. I shuddered. He began to peel my wet clothes from my skin. I shuddered the whole time.

I was naked. My petticlothes slipping off my legs with slight effort. The were wet and sticking to my shins. I stood. Exposed. My lips hovering an inch from his.

 _‘I’m cold’_ I repeated. Jon obliged me. Wrapping his arms slowly around my waist, crashing his lips to mine again. I could feel the fight in him. The fight between what I wanted, what he wanted.

And what was right.

He picked the lesser of two evils that night. He spread me out on the bed smoothing my damp hair back. He broke his lips from mine, kissing my neck then the crease down my breasts.

I was shaking.

His lips kissed my belly, my navel, above my pelvis, his breath brushed the skin of my cunny. I was shaking. My gods… I was shaking.. and then… his lips…they tasted me. I heard him groan and I swear, a volt of electricity surged through me. I thought the storm had sent a bolt through the roof and into my soul. He licked and slurped and dipped and bit and he groaned and I couldn’t…

I couldn’t breath.

He became more fervent. And my chest began to rise heavily. I was clutching, at his hair, his biceps, the wool. I began to croon. Lewd sounds. Sounds… I’d never heard myself make before. Sounds a proper girl should never make under any circumstances.

He moved faster, my body began to feel strange. I could feel myself seizing up. His mouth was wrapped around my cunny… I could feel him… eating me. I felt…

I don’t know what I felt.. I didn’t know anything in that moment. Nothing mattered. Thinking did not matter. Even with the rain still on my skin, I could feel myself begin to sweat. Jon’s grip on my legs grew tighter, He was forcing them back, allowing more access to my cunt. I could hear him swallow.

_My godssssss…._

How…  _my gods_ … how could this be?

My eyes began to well… I could feel tears against my lids even though they were snapped shut. Jon pulled away, ripping his shirt from his torso with a growl, sinking his mouth back into my lips, he began to suck again. I gasped. I couldn’t understand myself.

But Jon could. My hips began to writhe, Jon followed my movements precisely. clutching at my hips. I began to gasp over and over and over again, trying to catch my breath. I felt out of control. I could not still my movements. I tried to pull myself back with what little strength I could.

Jon would not let me.

He forced me back down. Lapping me up. My eyes rolled to the back on my head. My lips hung open, something was forming at the back of my throat. I couldn’t stop it.

It was a scream.

I saw white.

A sweet taste met my lips. My eyes shot open.  
  
_Oh my godssss_  
  
Jon’s lips had crashed to mine. I was tasting myself….

I loved it.

Jon lay atop me as I caught my breath, kissing my lips, my face, my chin my neck.

I licked his lips.

We said nothing else.

Like I said. It was established between us.  
******************************************************************************************  
This continued. We’d meet, sometimes with my siblings. We kept an appropriate distance from each other then. Other times, when I ventured to preform some false task for the septa’s, we’d ride or swim or climb, and he would slip his fingers into me. Make me see white over

And over

And over

And over again. I’d take him in hand, make him milk in my mouth, he’d drink me on the banks of the lake.

And I loved… I loved….

He would fight it. And I wouldn’t press him, because I knew… I knew he could only resist me so much. Before he’d give in. Give into me. Give in to himself. And when he would… gods…. he would.

It never got old. But I wanted more… I was curious. I was addicted. I wanted…

More.

He never actually became one with me. I wanted him to.

Desperately.

He wouldn’t.

Two years. I spent every day with him. Not all day every day of course.  But every day. We were not afforded that luxury to be together for unspecified amounts of time. He would be called with Robb and Theon and Bran to accompany my father on hunts. I saw him less and less sometimes. It only made our hunger for each other more potent when we’d meet.

He lifted me, one night after a hunt with House Cerwyn, above him while he stood. And feasted on me. My head high enough to graze the rafters of the roof. The window was open. It was dangerous. We could be seen… in the candlelight.

But he was hungry. Famished. And all I wanted to do was feed him.

I bit my lip and smiled in ecstasy.

He was all I wanted… All I wanted… And I wanted it to last forever.

It was not to be.

You see, Jon… was tortured.

He’d find moments of solace with me. But growing to know him, there were things even my company couldn’t heal. He never felt like he belonged. And it broke my heart. He was my best friend. I was his. He’d said it. I said it. But still… there were things he could not tell me.

When I would lie with him at night. I’d wake in the wee hours and his eyes…

Those eyes…

They lay open. Through the night’s silence. Through thundering storms. Through hail and snowfall and sleet. There was nothing I could do.

And I didn’t quite know how to cope with that.  
******************************************************************************************  
It was the night of my sixteenth name day…

The single most horrible night of my life.

Jon told me he was to take the Black.

My heart stopped.

I could not breath. I could not understand what tongue he was speaking to me in.

I should have known something was awry. Uncle Benjen had visited earlier that evening. He was a ranger in the Nights Watch. I’d seen Jon speaking with him beside the ale barrels at supper.

I’d felt uneasy but I never minded it. I never thought it would come to this.

I begged. I screamed. I pleaded. I told him no.. I cried… I fought him, verbally… physically. Anything. I would try anything. I needed him to stay.

He was my best friend.

And I loved… I loved…

He could not leave.

I loved him.

I told him.

He closed his eyes. He was fighting back…. something. He caught my arms as they pounded on his chest. He tried to make me understand. Said he loved me. Said something about needing to make a name of his own. He never felt he had one.

_Jon Snow._

He said the name felt hollow to him. A bastards name.

I didn’t understand why he didn’t realize none of that mattered to me. Despite what my mother thought, despite what anyone thought.

And then he said it.

That he could not sin with and against me anymore. That he loved me too much to do this to me. That I deserved a man I could be proud of.  A  man who deserved my… maidenhead. One who could provide me a name… legitimate heirs, security, lands, new titles.

The luxuries proper for a princess.

I felt the life leak from my bones. I could not breath. What was worse was he had pressed his lips to mine when he’d said that.

My eyes glazed over. I was staring at him. But not at him. I could not see.

Jon… always the absolutist. He had made the decision… he didn’t think to ask me how I’d felt. What I wanted. Perhaps I was being selfish. But that’s not what I could see… All I saw was Jon…

Abandoning me.

Choosing the most impossible situation for us at that. A life for himself without the warmth of a woman’s touch. Without the hope of a family of his own.

I knew what taking the  _fucking_ black meant.

It meant a life…for lack of a better word… A life…

Without me.

The Wall would have him. I was jealous of that wall. That bitter bleak and cold obelisk that stretched seven hundred miles wide. It would be his home now.

Instead of me.

I’d screamed some more.. begged him…implored. Pleaded with him not to go to that glorified penal community.

He silenced me with a kiss. I could not resist him.

He feasted on me that night. Longer than he had any other time before. I cried tears of pleasure…tears of pain. I saw white. I feel asleep.

I woke up alone. He’d left that morning.

He didn’t even say goodbye.

And I hated him. I hated him.

I hated him.  
***************************************************************************************  
Jon had sent letters of course. He was appointed steward… under Lord Commander Mormont. My family had always respected House Mormont. My father had felt better about Jon joining under Ser Jeor. He’d been doing fairly well at Castle Black. He’d send his love, to Bran and Robb, Arya and Rickon and Father, respect to mother,

And me.

I would stay silent. Avoid the ravens when they arrived.

I hated him. I scoffed internally whenever father would read his letters aloud when we’d break our fast.

_‘Love’_

Ha.

Lies.

He’d sent more letters. He was rising. Commander Jeor had fallen. And somehow, Jon had assumed his place.

The 998th Lord Commander, Snow.

Even my mother was surprised. Impressed, against her will.

I wasn’t.

I always knew Jon was strong. From the day he’d broken Ramsay’s jaw, I knew. I knew he could do anything. He was everything.

Everything.  
  
I longed for him.

And I hated him  
*****************************************************************************************  
Two years had passed. It was my eighteenth nameday. I walked the halls of the castle like a ghost.  
  
Jon was dead.  
  
Death took him. Death, had him.  
  
And I was jealous…. of death.  
  
It was his home now. Instead of me.  
  
I had nothing. Nothing else.  
  
Arya had taken it the hardest. Everyone always said her and Jon were the closest of the siblings.  
  
I hated… when they said that.  
  
I twinged with irritation. Twinged with grief… and anger… when they said that.  
  
If only they knew.  
   
I remember the day we received the letter he was gone. A steward named Samwell Tarley claiming to be Jon’s friend sent a raven.

I should have known. Dark wings, dark words.

It was read. Something about Jon and his big heart, allowing the Wildlings, the barbaric tribe that lived north of the wall to cross it. His comrades, not all but many, had opposed him for it.

They stabbed him.

Arya screamed. Punched through one of the doors and disappeared outside. Rickon wailed. Bran hid his face in fathers fur collar. Robb stayed strong, but I’d caught him stifling cries by the stables later that night.

Father clutched at his heart. The surgeon was brought in just in case.

My mother… even she looked distressed… with guilt.

And I… I held it in. Watched the rest while they attempted to cope. I was numb. I would not let them see. I could not… let them see.

I stepped into my chamber, latching the door behind me.

I retched violently into a bucket by the fire. I wept. Bitter, bitter tears. I didn’t leave my room for days. I longed for him.

And I hated him…

I hated him. I hated him. I hated him. I hated him.

I hated him… for leaving me.

Again.  
******************************************************************************  
Some months had passed. And I was still a ghost. I was numb. I ate. Barely. I walked. I never minded asking for permission. I didn’t care about the scoldings. 

I didn’t care.

I lied when I needed to. I was still a princess. A lady. My actions were still scrutinized. I still needed to make a fine match for some Lord somewhere. Deception had become by strength. I gained a mild and comfortable taste for it.

It had become easy.

I suppose it had to… without Jon by my side. My silent, brooding alibi, checking me if I ventured too far outside my manners. Making sure my stories at least held a hint of truth. Jon didn’t like to lie.

I had to manage on my own.

Company seemed bleak. I took no joy in the things I used to. I would go through the motions. But I wanted to be alone. And at night, dreams of him and his lips… and his smell…

Cedarwood…

I would touch myself at night. Prayed to the stranger at night. Cry myself into oblivion. Nothing helped. Lady was the only other being I could handle. She never made a sound. She understood.  
******************************************************************************************  
Supper was quiet one night. Until a raven came.

A raven… in the evening.

Strange…

I’d been nibbling blindly on my turnip greens. Not tasting them. Hoping to shovel enough food in my mouth to avoid the ever irritating  _‘are you not hungry?’_ question, then feed the rest to the wolves when mother and father weren’t looking. I’d wanted to escape to my chambers. To be alone.

Father opened the letter, His face paled. My mother asked him what it was. My father was inaudible. Attempting to stifle a bout of powerful coughs. My mother stood, clutching at his shoulder, she called for help. Robb moved towards my father.

Father waved the both of them down, recovering with a choke.

His lips trembled.

 _‘Jon’s alive’_ he said.

My heart stopped. Quite literally. I’d blacked out. I did not hear right. It could not be true.

Jon was dead.

Arya and Robb asked the questions I could not. I was paralyzed. My turnip greens falling off my fork, my breathing quickening.

I’d never believed in magic. I’d only heard about it in tales of the east. Tales of dragons and Old Valyria. How magic had been tied to their civilization but how it was lost in the doom. Legends of the Children of the Forest…tales the septa’s would tell us when they wanted to please Bran or scare Rickon into good behavior.

But it was not real. It could not be.

It was.

The letter was written by a man named Davos Seaworth. He was pledged as a servant to Lord Stannis Baratheon. Stannis traveled with a red woman, a priestess from Asshai. A land full of mystery and magic… so we’d heard. She’d served a god unknown to us. A lord of light… I recall. She’d revived him… at Ser Davos and the loyal black brothers’ behest.

Whatever spell she cast.. had worked. Jon had awaken from his death and had taken revenge against the mutineers who’d betrayed him.

His watch had ended.

And he was coming home.  
**********************************************************************************************  
The day had come.

I’d sat in my chambers. Lady was at my feet eyeing me with stoic concern.

My hair had grown. It was loose. In curls. It was all I could do for myself. I’d woken before dawn. I took a blistering cold swim in the lake. Rode my mare with Lady through the Wolfswood, found new pathways. I’d taken a walk around that grounds,

All before dawn.

I did not know what to do with myself.

When daybreak had risen, I joined my family in the courtyard. We waited. We heard the clipping of horses. Too many… It was more than one steed that approached our gates. Perhaps Jon, the fallen Lord Commander had received a posthumous escort.

I reason… It would be the polite and proper thing to do considering…

The gates opened and a black Destrier clipped heavily into the courtyard.

He sat upon it’s back.

Him. He was there. In front of me.

My gods… I could not breathe.

It was him. Him. The same.  And disparate. I could not breathe. His hair was tied, there was a sleek knot locking his curls back. The ebony hairs on his face that were a mere shadow when he’d left me, were thick, glossy and full. He’d grown larger. His arms, were lean and cut, flexing out of his armor. His face was full of fire. His face… he looked alive.

I could not breathe.

I was right, however, about multiple hooves. He was not alone. Behind his Destrier, was a brown stallion. Sitting atop it was a girl. Her hair was red,

Like mine.

She wore heavy furs, a hood pulled over her head. Her freckled face looked astounded. She looked at the castle…at my family… as if she’d never seen humans before. At least humans like us.

Instantly, I realized she was not of the north…our region of the north, anyway.

Jon descended from his horse. He helped the girl down.

I didn’t know how I felt about her.

My father walked up to him. Slowly… his pace signified disbelief. They crashed into an embrace. They didn’t part for ages. My father… was not one for idle affection, but Jon stood before him. Resurrected. His son.

His son.

He’d missed his son.

My mother embraced him next. It registered strange… awkward. Jon did not know how to approach her. He never had, before.

All decorum died there. Arya launched at him, wept tears of happiness. Rickon leapt to his back, Robb threw himself behind Arya in an embrace and Bran wrapped his arms around Jon’s waist. Father was holding mother’s hand, laughing, tears of happiness flying from the crows feet near his eyes.

And I… I stood there.

I could not breathe.

Ghost. Jon’s wolf had grown massive. He trotted calmly near me.

He remembered me.

I knew I always liked that pup.

He stood up to my elbows now. He licked my face, licked Lady. I looked back towards my family. They’d broken from him. His hand was locked in that girls. She walked timidly forward with his guidance.

I took in a sharp breath. I was not sure how I felt about her…

Father looked perplexed as Jon explained something to him. Perplexed like my mother… and my siblings. They were silent. Then pause. Father spoke up a few moments later, his frown curving into a smile.

At that girl.

He embraced her. Held his hand out and towards the castle. She smiled. Her teeth were crooked.

Jon kissed her, on her temple.

I could not breathe again. And I knew how I felt about her.

Jon looked up and around as mother and father spoke to that girl. His eyes locked on mine.

Gods…those eyes…

I could not breathe. I could not hear. I could not feel, the air around me nor Ghost’s tongue nipping at my fingertips.

But I could see, once I’d broken my gaze from the eyes… to his hands.

Locked in hers. Not in mine.

I hated her.  
”**************************************************  
She was a Wildling.

He’d came into her… acquaintance beyond wall. Before he died. He’d joined them, the barbarians.  A self preservation tactic after a mission was ambushed.

She helped him… maintain his anonymity.

She was his alibi…

I felt a rip go through the muscle beating in my chest when I’d heard that.

I hated her.

Especially when she’d speak to him.

Her voice. It vexed me. I was terribly vexed. A thick, barbaric brogue.

She was speaking quite comfortably when we’d sat to sup. She kept saying something to Jon.

Pardon…

_Jon Snow._

How he  _‘knew nothing’._

She kept saying it. ‘

_‘You know nothin’, crow.’  ‘You know nothin’, Jon Snow’._

I sensed it a tad berating. Arya and Rickon giggled, father smirked. Mother as well. Robb and Theon laughed heartily. They enjoyed her. The smile on Jon’s faced mirrored he did too.

I hated her.

And they kept laughing, every time she said it. Enjoying her boldness, and so on and so forth.

I was enjoying something else. The irony of her words.

_‘You know nothing…’  
_

Apparently, neither did she. She was holding her cutlery, awkwardly, using the spoons to cut her meat and her fork to sip her soup. I smirked, let out a small laugh in sardonic amusement. Jon shifted his eyes to me. Those eyes… those grey eyes. _Oooohh_ they were the same….They were trapping me. And they were scolding me.  
  
A ghost of a breath escaped me.  
  
I hated him.  
  
Staring at me like that. Locking his eyes for the first time to mine since he’d departed from me. The night of my sixteenth. When he’d vanished like a thief. The night I keep locked away between my dreams and my nightmares.  
  
He’d killed me well before he’d lost his own life. 

I died that night.  
  
This was not the way it should be. I’d finally received a gift from The Stranger.  I’d prayed to him…  
  
No one prayed to him.  
  
But he released Jon back to me…  
  
And now, Jon was looking at me. Like that. Trapping me. Rebuking me. Because of her. That girl. With those eyes. The eyes that should be _seeing me..._ the way they used to. When he’d been my alibi. My best friend. Before he’d taken the black.  
  
He should have looked at me with those eyes the minute he’d come through the gates on that Destrier,  
  
He should have come alone.  
  
I would have met those eyes. They would have met mine.  If it was not for her, those eyes would be looking at me, while I’d found my way to speak, against his lips. I’d tell him I loved him. Tell him..what I did… to get him back. If it wasn’t for her, He’d be looking at me with those eyes, brushing the wet of happiness from my face underneath the cool of our lake near the Wolfswood. If it wasn’t for her, those eyes would be looking up at me, from the base of his bed, in that warm room, with the fire that felt of dragon’s breath, as he’d feast on me, and make me see white. Like he used to...   
  
Instead he was looking at me. Scolding me.  
  
Because of her.  
  
I hated her.  
*******************************************************************************************  
It was what I felt.  
  
Can you fault me?  
  
I’d prayed to the stranger. Was this my sacrifice? To be given a gift, that walked hand in hand with a curse?  
  
I pondered that while supper carried on that evening. Cutlery clanged and benches scraped as the household rose from their seats to carry their evening activities. I elected to leave the hall. I’d barely moved the whole evening, paralyzed with the reality in front of me. My restlessness that morning had caught up with me. I wanted sleeps warm and dark embrace. That way my eyes would see black. Not the red of that barbaric girl’s hair on the grey of those eyes.  
  
His eyes.  
  
Sweeping my gown up, I made for the doors. Pushing through them, I walked blindly through the halls. The torches were lit. Night had fallen. I didn’t hear the footsteps behind me.  
  
I felt a rough calloused hand wrap around my arm. And suddenly I was not in control of my motions. I was being pulled, the light of the torches turning into a flash of orange and red before my eyes. I came to a stop in a dim lit quarter. A door creak shut behind me. Those eyes… those grey eyes were staring at me through the flickering of the wax candle in the corner.  
  
Those eyes.  
  
They were inching towards me. He was getting too close. I could smell the Cedarwood on him… and something else…  I knew that smell. I’d caught whiff of it whenever I’d prayed. Those dark nights, curled in a fetal position on the banks of the lake. Pleading. The smell of the stranger. The smell... of death.    
  
_Ooohhhh…. my gods…_ I felt I’d see white.  
  
And his lips were an inch from mine. I was faint from breathing in too quickly. Jon could do that to me. Easily. Too easily. His hands, calloused and rough touched my face.   
  
His eyes. They were piercing me now. Waiting for me to speak.  
  
I couldn’t. I was not ready. No one knows how difficult it is, to try to speak when the threat of weeping obstructs your throat.   
  
He gazed over my face, he was inspecting it. Turning it here and there lightly. He’d done this to me, back then, whenever I’d fell from my horse or saw white too intensely. He was observing the change in me, physically anyway.  
  
His eyes.  
  
I was wrong.  
  
They were not the same. They looked into me more intensely than they’d ever have before. He could see through me. As if I was as translucent as the belly of a bass in the lake. They were intense, and focused. His face hard. Soft. Stern. Death had preserved him. Metamorphosed him. _Gods he was beautiful.  
_  
I’d shut my eyes tightly. I couldn’t look at him. Not now. Not now…  
_  
'Sansa…’_ He whispered. The timbre of his voice warmed the base of my belly rising up into my soul.  
  
Still I could not look at him.  
  
He said my name again but I was dumb. Mute. I couldn’t. I wasn’t ready. My eyes snapped tighter still. His fingers tightened on my face.  
  
No. No.  
  
_‘Will you not speak to me?’_ He breathed.  
  
I couldn’t. I was not ready.  
  
His efforts grew. He ran his fingers through my hair. He took his time, It had grown longer since he’d parted from me. My lids were shut but my eyes began to invert inside my head.  But I was dumb. Mute. Afraid of the words that would spill past the obstruction in my throat if I did. He was speaking to  me.  
  
He understood my silence.  
  
He was attempting to explain himself. His circumstances. That girl. He’d said her name. I could not hear it. He was fervent now. He was… apologizing. Trying to get me to understand. His fingers were gripping my face now.   
  
My eyes stayed shut.  
  
He was asking me. Coaxing me. Imploring me. Begging me. To speak. To say something.  
  
_‘Look at me.’  
  
‘Speak to me’_  
  
He kept saying it. Begging and begging and begging and begging. His lips… were so close… And begging and begging and coaxing… to say something.  
  
Anything  
  
I couldn’t. No. No. I’d pushed him from me. It took a massive effort. I’d moved him. Barely.  
  
I finally spoke.  
  
_‘Leave me alone.’  
_  
It was barely a whisper. He stiffened. I felt his strong jaw clench against my chin. My eyes shut tighter. The stroke of his ebony hairs drifted from my face. It took eons.   
  
He let me go. I felt blindly for the door. Pushed it free. Snapped my eyes open. The wet that was dammed  behind my eyes spilled and dissipated on the heat of my cheeks. I felt the graze of his calloused palms stroke my wrist.  
  
He called my name.   
  
I was too far away now. I couldn’t hear. The screaming of my boots hitting the stone echoed too loudly.   
  
I didn’t sleep that night.  
***********************************************************************************************  
He stared at me. Often. Inspected me. Tried to catch my eye. In between moments of looking  
  
at her.  
  
In between her constant reminders that he _‘knew nothing.’_  
  
It was like nails on slate.   
  
I’d avoid his gaze. Concentrate on the food I wasn’t eating. The frost on the windowsills. Stare at father or mother or Rickon. The wolves. Anything. Anything other than him. And that girl. 

And those eyes.  
  
He’d relent. Look at her with those eyes. The eyes that should have been on me.  
  
I hated her.  
  
Her with her skinny legs. Eyes too far apart. Pug nose. That red hair. Stout arms lengthened from archery. Her raspy laugh. Quit wit. Her oblivious disposition. She was boyish. I guess that’s why they’d taken to her.  
  
Father, Robb, Bran, Rickon, Arya… Him.  
  
She’d joined them in everything. Sparring. Fishing. Hunting. Riding… barebacked..  She was one of them.   
  
I still sat in the towers. Stitching. Me with my long Tully locks. Pale skin unmarred by the sun. Tall. Delicate. Newly round at the breast. Round at the hips. Perfect for bearing sons… they’d say. My arms were long. Lithe. Not muscled. I’d never drawn a bow. Never sparred or fished. I should have. I would have. Jon had never gotten the chance…  
  
To teach me.  
  
I couldn’t. It was not proper for a lady. I was to stay imprisoned in a world of propriety and duty. To ready myself for whatever prince would have me.  
  
And she had him.  
  
And she was free. Unlike me.  
  
That girl. From the Freefolk, was free. The paradox made me cringe.  
***********************************************************************************  
I’d finally felt my eyes drift into arms of sleep.  
  
Finally.  
  
The crackle of  the fire warmed my skin. I dabbed lavender at my neck and at my temples earlier. It was permeating my senses. I drifted to black.  
  
What I assumed was hours passed. But my eyes opened inadvertently to the darkness of the room.  
  
A moment later, I understood why.  
  
A heard a voice. My window was let open. The sound was wafting in through the open panels.  
  
No. It was not a voice, it was crooning. Gasping. Heavy heavy breathing.  
  
I rolled my eyes. I wished Robb would keep it down when he’d consort with the handmaidens I thought.  
  
_‘Y-y-you know nothin’ Jon Snoooooohh’_  
  
It wasn’t Robb.  
  
It slithered into my ears, raking at my ear drums. My life seeped from my body and rushed back in with the beating of a head board. Growing louder and louder and louder. Shaking me. Sending tremors up my spine, up my throat. I vomited it out into a scream. I wasn’t in control of my body.  
  
Something else was.    
  
A strange thing… this energy. It was green, like Wildfire. Burned like Wildfire. It was like food. Giving me this freakish energy.  
  
You could live off it.  
  
I snapped my hands up to my ears pressing them with all the strength I could. Blocking the beating. The beating. My drums, They’d bleed, I could feel it. I drew blood from biting my lip. I collapsed from my bed.  
  
‘ _You-kno-nooooohhhh-’  
_  
I was screaming. Screaming.  
  
‘ _JonSnowJonSnowJonSnowJonSnow…’_  
  
It would not stop.  
  
I snatched the handle of the window shut. Scraping my collarbone on the stone as I slid down it.  
  
‘ _JonSnowJonSnowJonSnowJonSnow…’_  
  
The echo was a viper, snapping at my ears. Poisoning me. Infecting me. My soul. I tried to catch my breath. I couldn’t it was as uncoordinated as the faint thump  
  
Thump  
  
Thumping against my wall.  
  
I tripped over the side table. Knocked down a porcelain vase of Lavender flowers and winter roses. It cracked with a clash. The water seeped over my redwood floorboards.  
  
Red…  
  
Like that bitch’s hair.  
  
The energy was not my own. The surge of it was too strong. I suddenly hated those floorboards. I snatched my pewter flagon of water sending it spiraling to the floor. The clock, The chamber keys. The logs for the fire. The iron rods I sent smashing against my four poster. My letters scattered. My ink burst into flame in the fire. I had a knife. I’ve no idea where it came from. My canopies were grey. Like those eyes. His eyes.  
  
The knife ripped through them like a current through water. I disemboweled the Wool bedspread. My pillows met the same fate.  
  
I fell into the chaos. My locks submerged in a cloud of feather and wool and glass. And I fell. fell. Fetal. Drowning in an ocean of my tears.  
**************************************************************************************  
I rose the next morning. Pushed myself from the cursed redwood floors embedding shards of glass into my palms as a result.  
  
I could not feel them.  
  
I wrapped my cloak around me, Stepped over the wood from my fourposter and swerved around an iron rod javelined through the floor. Caught my reflection in the broken panels of the mirror by the door. Squall grey bags the shade of bruises graced the underneath of my lids.  
  
I didn’t care.  
  
I wrenched the door open.  Made to walk to the great hall to break my fast. I would not of course. Eat that is. The door adjacent wrenched open as well.  
  
I was met with laughing.  
  
That barbaric, earsplitting, laughing. She’d walked out the room, stood still for a moment. Cackling. Waiting. He’d emerged. Hair, slightly disheveled. Those grey eyes.  
  
They met mine. He froze. I watched those grey eyes freeze. Morph from surprise. To discomfort.  
  
To guilt.   
  
I see… He did not know I resided in the chambers the door over.  
  
Hence the surprise.  
  
The guilt.  
  
The staring.  
  
So I stared back. My face expressionless. My eyes, fighting to stay afloat  in the dark pools gathered beneath the craters under my lids. This was uncomfortable.  
  
I made it easier.  
  
Resumed my mission to the great hall, brushing past them.  
  
Silent.  
********************************************************************************************  
Breakfast was an awkward affair. He kept staring. He was not eating. I avoided his gaze. This dance we’d become so proficient at. I wish he’d stop. Wish _she’d_ stop. Talking. Wish they’d all stop… encouraging her to do it.  
  
I could not get the visions out of my mind. I was a masochist, formed the outline of their bodies writhing, the shape of her mouth and her insipid moaning. It was burned, like a cattle brand in my mind. Took residence in the part of my brain the housed the memories of me… and him. My moaning. His growls.  
  
She was a thief.  
  
A barbaric, Wildling, savage thief. She’d stolen him from me.  
  
He was mine.  
*****************************************************************************************  
If I thought the day could not grow any bleaker.   
  
I was wrong.  
  
I’d somehow gained the use of my legs again, made it all the way out to the courtyards while my siblings and some of the other household sparred or worked. I’d escaped the septa’s. I was walking. Unseen. Like the ghost I felt I was. And she was talking. Again.   
  
In that brogue.   
  
My ears caught every word. My brothers, Bran and Rickon and Robb were talking to her, asking her about her home, the people… the pastimes. She’d laughed. Said we weren’t all that different.  
  
Except for one thing.  
  
_‘That thing you southern lords do to your ladies’ cunnies at night , That thing you do...with your mouths.’  
_  
My heart stopped.  
  
The boys guffawed. Slapped their palms against each other knowingly. Arya was doubled over. Blushing.  
  
And I…  
  
I was blind. Blinded by an acid shade of green. As bright as wildfire. This ignorant, barbaric wench knew no other ‘ _southern lord_ ’ but him. Jon. I bit my fist. Drew blood. It was all I could do, to keep from screaming. From tearing her fire red locks from her scalp. From blinding those eyes that were set too far apart, keeping them from ever seeing white again.  
  
Blinding her from ever seeing his lips. The lips that rightfully belong to _me,_ from tasting her, ever again. From feasting on her.  
  
They way he used to feast on me.  
  
That was _ours_. I _hated_ him, 

 _‘IhatedhimihatedhimIhatedhimIhatedhimIhatedhim’_  
  
_I hated him!_  
  
I hated him, for sharing that with her. Did he cherish nothing? How could he? I saved myself…  
  
For him.  
  
For the day he’d come back. Before he died. I could have given him that gift had he not been stabbed for taking up for those people. Those savages.  
  
Been stabbed...  
  
For her.  
  
I _hated_ her.  
  
I realized it then. She was my curse. This curse that walked hand in hand with my blessing. I was certain of it. She could not be allowed to haunt me anymore. I’d made the mistake once, prayed to the stranger without offering anything in exchange. The stranger could not punish me anymore. I’d offer him another gift.  
  
I would rid myself of her.  
  
Rid myself, of this curse.   
*******************************************************************************  
I’d created a blueprint once I’d set the fire of my rage to a low, crackling roar.   
  
I’d let the days grow in to one fortnight after the other. I was calm. Peaceful.

I observed her. 

Her days, where she’d walk, where she’d run. With him. When she’d wake to eat. When she’d lie to sleep. It was no longer in quarters near mine. Jon had ordered a switch of chamber the very next morning.  
  
I collected my studies into an analysis.

Jon was worried.   
  
Jon... was anxious for me.   
  
His eyes, they held the permanent look of brooding.

Concern... for me.

I could see it in his face. I could see it. I'd always been able to read him well. The question forming everytime his gaze seared through me. The gaze that screamed: ' _W_ _hat happened to you?'_  The gaze that begged: _'L_ _et me fix this.'_

Jon. Of course he'd seek to remedy. It was Jon, he didn't know how not to try.

But the damage was done.

And I didn't want to fix it.

He would leer. Unconsciously. I never spoke to him. Ever. It ailed him, my silence. No one thought it odd, the nature of our closeness had never been disclosed after all.  
  
Good.  
  
It was better that way. Jon would be a hindrance to my stratagem. I could not have him and those eyes, looking at me. Searching me. Haunting me. 

But my silence. I could see him fighting with it, when we’d sup, when the other bannermen and their Lords would come to visit.   
  
During the banquets when I was dressed ornately.  
  
When they young princes from the other houses lusted for me, approached me, declared their love and devotion...  
  
He hated it.  
  
He was fighting... a multitude of emotions. His bloodthirst and rage against the men who courted me.  
  
His concern for me.  
  
His lust…for me

and the attention he’d been burdened to pay to her.   
  
**********************************************************************************************************************************  
  
House Baratheon, had visited one particular night. The evening had been a gregarious and exhausting affair. Mother, father and the household had spared no expense in feast preparations. My father’s oldest and closest friend, King Robert and his wife Cersei Lannister had reunited with House Stark. To speak of old times, the state of affairs in the capital… and other things. I heard whispers of other things  
  
Whispers of a betrothal. My betrothal to their son, Joffrey.  
  
A vile boy. I concede, _yes_ he was handsome. But he vexed me. His company vexed me.  
  
I was terribly vexed.  
  
I’d walked toward the lake. An attempt to escape. That’s all I seemed to do those days. I watched the ripple of currents churn underneath the lake’s surface. The brightness of a full moon was rising slowly. The glow of fireflies skated over the water. The storm in my gut settled to a light wind. I thought I was alone.  
  
I wasn’t.  
  
Jon was on the far side of the bank pulling a boat in.  
  
Of course he was.  
  
That was just the way my world worked.  
  
He was staring at me.  
  
Damn.  
  
I’d forgotten I hadn’t raised my cloaks hood up and over my hair. He was walking towards me. I could not move. The light wind in my gut began to rise up my chest into a tempest. I made to move. I had to move. I’d succeeded a meager two feet before the roughness of calloused hands wrapped around my arm. My waist.   
  
_‘Come here to me’_ He whispered.  
  
No. N _o no no no no no no no no_ No. _No.  
  
_ What was he doing here? _Why?_ I could not look at him. Not now. Not during my brief and exiguous moment of peace. NOT NOW. He’d see me with those eyes. I was endeavoring to rid myself of a curse.  
  
I could not handle being haunted as well.  
  
And he was pulling me towards him, those eyes. Brooding over me. His nose touched mine.  
_  
Godsssss…  
_  
I was breathing him in. His hands wrapped firmly around me face. I was choking. My eyes snapped shut.   
  
I could not look at him.  
  
_‘Where are you?’_ he rasped. Against my lips, his thumb pressing against the arch of my cheek bone. Still my eyes shut firmly. I would not speak. I could not speak.  
  
But the taste of him.  
  
_Godsssss_. When would this torment _end_?  
  
His lips.. their softness. They were so close to mine.  
  
They were _too_ close to mine.   
  
They fought. Our tongues. His was dipping into my mouth, his teeth were biting at my lips, his hand was tugging at my hair, pulling my head back, his lips were on my neck, forming a bite. I was choking. Choking on the groan I was fighting back. His lips felt like fire. And he was pulling me against him. Pressing me against him. I could feel every ripple of his abdomen, one’s I remembered. One’s that were new. His lips latched back to mine. I was fighting back tears now. I thought I’d see white. He was pressing against me… I could feel…  
.  
_Godssss_. _I could feel…_  
  
No. N _o no no no no no no no no_ No. _No._  
  
I broke from his lips. My eyes seared shut. I wrenched my face from his grasp. His hands dropped to my back, clutching me to him. I tried to turn my face away from him. I hadn’t the strength to break free. His breathing was heavy. I didn’t say a word. I waited.  
  
_‘Seven hells, Sansa. Speak to me!’_ He beseeched.  
  
His voice. The deep rippling timbre of it that was so melodious held the air of frustration. I hated it. It pained me. As it pained him. I’d ease it for the both of us. I’d concede to his request.  
  
_‘I have to go.’_ I whispered.  
  
It was short, perhaps a bit curt. But it was all I could surrender. All I could say.  
  
It was the truth.  
  
I was never able to lie to Jon.  
  
He released me. Took him ages to do it. The minute I felt the last fingers on his hand slip from my body, I stumbled and steadied myself. My walk was brisk towards the castle.  
  
I was finally able to open my eyes.  
*************************************************************************************  
I’d survived an ambush. Taken to my bed. My room was reinstated. I’d avoided an interrogation by the septa’s about it. Paid a steward boy to help me sort it. Paid him more to keep it quiet.  
  
My eyes had just began to close, but Lady prowled into my room. I opened my eyes to her panting. She was restless. Her pupils were dilated. Her fur looked as if it was standing on end. Yet it was glossy. Her fangs were bared. She nudged me lightly.  
  
Of course.  
  
How could I forget.  
  
It was the full moon. Direwolves are always more restless. More… powerful during the full moon. She was nudging me. She wanted to be let out.   
  
What could I do?   
  
I sucked my fatigue back. Pulled my cloak over shoulders and followed her outside, down the steps, past the great doors, to the Wolfswood.  
  
It was midnight. Perhaps a little later. I could tell. The moon’s glow over the forest shone like a hundred candles. Lady prowled beside me, rippling with a satisfied growl. She was sniffing. Searching. I let her, guided her towards things that would taste nice.  
  
We were traveling deeper into the wood. It was a cold northern night.The chill in the air seeped into my bones. I raised the hood of my cloak. We heard more wolves howling. They were barking. Calling their kin. Lady’s ears perked up, her rippling grew stronger, her fangs bared again. She’d broken to a trot. My long legs didn’t need to speed up too much to catch up with her.   
  
The thicket was growing, I could hear her breathing quicken. Becoming more feral. I’d grown used to these nights since she was a pup. I kept walking. Let Lady exert her mood out. Feel the forest…  
  
When an arrow, whipped passed my hair and into the tree behind me.  
  
I froze, paralyzed momentarily. The trees were thick. I had to squint.  
  
‘ _Who goes there?’_ rasped a voice.  
  
That voice.  
  
Thick with that barbaric brogue.  
  
She was there. Crouched in front of a Weirwood. Peering out over her bow with those wide-set eyes past the trees with furrowed brows.  
  
Damn.  
  
I’d forgotten she’d hunted for the animals that frolicked in the night.  
  
I did not reveal myself. I was nettled. That wench had practically impaled me with that arrow. Her, alone out here in the forest...  
  
I froze.  
  
_Oh my gods.._.  
  
The serendipity was too fantastic. _  
_  
Her bow was stanced at the ready.  
  
_‘Who goes there?_ ’ She called again. I realized my fortunes, but did not know how to proceed...  
  
That is, until I felt the glow of the moon on my skin and that burning of green wildfire.. and Lady. Lady, beside me. Teeth bared, hairs on end... feral, hungry, jaw rippling.   
  
_‘Eat.’_ I commanded.  
  
Lady never disobeyed a direct order.  
  
I watched her, crouch low, eyes flash with ferocity, watched her lips pull back over her fangs, her pelt bristle. She pounced forward. Snapping at the girls neck. She was ravenous, unbridled, attacking with savage hunger and fierceness. Attacking with a wildness that matched the fire growing in my belly.   
  
She was screaming, screaming... as I had when death had taken Jon. Screaming, as I had when I’d decimated my chambers to the sound of that bitch... to the sound of that brogue I hated so much. Screaming, fighting, with the one arm she still had left.   
  
And I finally understood. Finally realized the answer to the question I’d asked myself that day. That day when Ramsay, the Bolton bastard, had advanced on the steward boy. The day he advanced on me, with his pretty blue eyes. Laughing maniacally. I understood now that it was indeed possible...  
  
_So blissfully possible._  
  
To relish someones pain.  
  
A ripple of dark laughter crept up my throat.  
  
Judge me if you like, but I couldn’t hold it back. She was struggling, Lady had her by the foot, crushing her ankle in her jaw, working her way up her shins, ripping her knee from the socket.   
  
The crack that ricocheted through the thicket sent a dark surge of satisfaction through my chest. I stepped forward, I did not turn my eyes away. Father always instructed us not to. Always said: _‘The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.’  
_  
I was not a man, but the principle was the same.  
  
My face crept past the shadows, I stepped into the moonlight. She was stabbing at the ground with a knife. In the hand she still had left. Struggling to crawl away from Lady’s hunger. My foot cracked over the leaves in front of her.  
  
She looked up. She saw me. Her eyes grew wide. Her mouth, bloodied and bitten screamed at me. Screaming at me, to help her. Begging me to help her.  
  
But she was my curse. She needed to be lifted from me.  
  
She realized in my lack of movement, her fate. Desperate. Like a child throwing a tantrum over their bed time. She used the last of her Wildling strength to stab at the ground. She caught my ankle. The pain seared. I limped. Lady heard my sharp intake of breath. Her feral hunger turned to preservation mode. She lunged. Ripping the girls throat from her neck. 

She stilled. The screaming stopped. Instantly.   
  
My ankle was bloodied. I had thread and a needle in my cloaks. Like a good girl. As I always did.  
  
I butterflied stitched my wound. Hands steady. Resolved to clean it in the morning.  
  
My heart was racing. But I was free.  
  
Lady nudged me upwards, She was tall enough for me to lean on her all the way back up to the castle gates. I kissed her pelt. Thanked her. Thanked the stranger.  
  
I slept that night.  
  
_I was free._  
******************************************************************************************  
I had little time to relish my triumph.   
  
The Lannisters had decided to collect on their debts.  
  
The night before, while I’d been setting myself free, I was not alone on the castle grounds.   
  
Arya had ventured outside of the banquet hall, was play sparring with one of the smith’s sons. testing her new sword out. Prince Joffrey had followed. Wanted to play along. He was the spoiled untrained type. A weak prince. Arya knew it. Refused him. He’d struck her, made to snatch the sword away, Nymeria, Arya’s wolf defended her. Wounded him.  
  
He told a different tale.  
  
It was believed, of course, by his mother. She was furious, that Queen. King Robert had to placate her. She demanded the life of Arya’s wolf. Arya had said she’d run off.  
  
I knew she’d set her free. There were too many wolves howling that night.  
  
Still Queen Cersei demanded recompense. Wanted the next best thing.  
  
She decided Lady would suffice.  
  
They found the mangled remnants of that bitch earlier that day. Told Jon. Told him she’d fought, found the knife in her hand she still had left. Said she’d cut whatever attacked her.  
  
It was the nail in my wolf’s coffin.  
  
King Robert had decided it. Said something to my father about me getting a proper pet, Direwolves were just not a good choice for a princess.   
  
I screamed. Pleaded. All propriety lost. I was no longer a lady. Not then. They were taking the only thing I had left. Had I not given enough? Had the stranger decided to double up on his gift? To take Lady as a sacrifice to the curse I sought to lift? I shrieked. I writhed. It took the combined strength of Father, Robb....  
  
Jon.  
  
To hold me back from her as they slit her throat.  
  
I screamed. The knife had pierced me as well.  
  
Jon pressed his lips to my temple as I wept.  
*********************************************************************************************  
The last night of the Lannister’s ominous presence moved with all the swiftness of rancid-molasses. No one wanted them there. My parents included. Still, as was appropriate, the household prepared the feast. Dressed and partook. Drunken with inebriated merriment a few hours later.  
  
I had calmed. Not a natural calm. The kind of calm that comes after vomiting. The calm that comes before a storm.  
  
Ghost had taken it upon himself to follow me. Lie with me. Accompany me on my walks that felt like his name-sake.   
  
I’d always liked that pup.  
  
He seemed to be splitting his time between Jon and I. Jon, who still endured my silence. Jon, who walked the halls of the castle, morose. Exerting all his strength hacking at wood with all his rage, his melancholia, his lust... sparring in the courtyards. He’d caught the whole of the venison at the feast on his own.   
  
I felt no pity. She was a curse. My curse. His as well, whether he realized it or not. I had paid more of a price than she or he. I had said the prayers. To the stranger.  
  
No one prayed to him. 

Only I had the ambition. Only I had the strength.  
  
She did not deserve my blessing. She stood in the way of me and my blessing.  
  
So lost in my thoughts I was, I did not hear one of the chambermaids fussing at me.  
  
‘Lady Sansa!’ she exclaimed.  
  
She startled me, I turned my eyes to her calmly, however. I was petting Ghost, leaning back on my chair. My gown was black, hiked up against my long legs. I hadn’t been minding my posture.  
  
_‘Your ankle!’  
_  
Blast.  
  
I sat cross-legged. hadn’t realized my skirts were lifted above my knee. My wound and it’s stitching was exposed. Still just a tad pink around the rim.  
  
She was fussing. I wished the simple bitch would keep her voice down. She was vexing me. I was terribly vexed.   
  
Jon passed by with Robb and some of the other lads. They’d cocooned him in a shell of security ever since. They'd stopped. Joined in on the fuss. I told them it was nothing. A scrape. I’d tripped. It always worked.   
  
Never with Jon.  
  
He was staring at me. He was frozen. Staring at my scar. At me. Then at my scar. I could see it in his eyes. Those grey eyes. He was piecing something together.   
  
His eyes snapped back to mine, staring into me. Inspecting me. His jaw was clenched. He was frozen. Those eyes. They did not blink. They were boring into mine. He was looking at me.   
  
For the first time, my eyes deliberately met his. Blank. Hollow. I wanted him to see. It was time. Time he realized what I’ve had to go through. What I did for us. What I'd sacrificed to bring him back to me. To lift that curse.   
  
I shifted my gown over my legs.  
  
I stared at him, while I did it.  
  
I stood, walked away from the tables. I could feel those eyes... watching me. Burning into me.  
  
I departed. Out of the doors, to the courtyard. I was alone. Somehow I’d made it to those steps. I could barely feel my feet climbing them. I reached that balcony. Still hollowed out. Still blocked by that glossy wooden door that was never locked. I pushed it open. I hadn’t been there since... Since the night I died.  
  
It was perfect. No one would disturb me here. And I wanted...  
  
Peace. I wanted my allocated and exiguous moment of peace.  
  
I should have known better.

You see.. As I’ve told you...  
  
I could never hide from Jon.  
  
I’d barely made it to that room. Barely lit the fire. Barely let my locks down, letting them cascade over my shoulders...  
  
before he burst in.  
  
Those eyes. They were full of storm, full of squall and fire. He was breathing. Heavily. His dark curls thick touching the base of his neck. His chest, it was heaving. I could see every ripple of his muscles outlined through his black tunic. I stood. Frozen. Those eyes... they were an inch from mine now. I felt a tiny searing pain at the top of my head. I only realized in my momentary paralysis due to his presence, that my head had been slammed against the wall near my window. My wrists, trapped in a binding of calloused fingers. Gripping at them. Pinning them beside my head. He was pressed against me. I could feel...  
  
_Oh my gods, I could feel..._  
  
He was screaming at me. His face was... Irate. Intense.. Filled with anger, his lust... that look he’d fix me with, when he knew he couldn’t touch me. During my moments of silence. During the moments when the other princes would yearn for me. Declare their love for me. He was screaming, pressing closer to me with every snarl. I was amused. Strangely calm. Unfazed. This must of been how it felt for him... when I’d screamed. when I’d pleaded... like this. The night of my sixteenth. This is how it must have felt for her... that Wildling whore. When I’d screamed, nearly shattering my voice box, at his sound of his name falling from her lips.  
  
‘ _JonSnowJonSnowJonSnowJonSnow…’_  
  
I let him. Scream. Let him get it all out. Watched him in silence while he did it. The pain near my head and wrist was growing more acute. He was pushing me against the wall demanding... Something.  
  
His hand dropped from my wrist to my face, snatching it up roughly. Inspecting it with those eyes. Screaming. Screaming.  
  
I pulled my face away. Pushed him from me. Turned my back to him.  
  
I heard him growl. Scream at me again. Something about not walking away from him. I was warm. He was heating the room, more than the crackling fire at the foot of the wall was.   
  
I was snatched back. Strong arms encircling my waist. Calloused hand around my neck, full soft lips at my ear.  
  
_Oh my godsssss!  
_  
My eyes threatened to revert into my sockets. He was whispering something to me. He was not begging now. He was demanding. Ordering me to speak to him. Look at him. To tell him what I did. My stitches. He knew I was the only one who used that stitch to sew up my wounds. Demanding to know what happened to me. He was cursing. Screaming. I might’ve answered him, had I not been trying so hard to maintain my strength, pressing my legs together to keep the wet from dripping down my cunt. Had I not been trying so hard to breath, to keep myself from seeing white.  
  
I placed my hands over his that were gripping my neck. I stroked them. Raised my others to his hair. The silky thickness of those curls. His hardness grew. Perhaps it was inadvertent. Perhaps not. His lips pressed harder to my ear.  
  
And I smiled. Embraced the blissful reality of what I knew was inevitable.  
  
What I knew was coming.  
  
I heard a rip. It was my silk black dress. I felt a coolness on my back. My knees were being forced up onto the bed. I felt the dress slip equitorially off my body. His hands were in my hair. Tugging at my locks. It might’ve been painful had my head not been numb to the stinging of it slamming against the wall a moment before. Might’ve been painful if my head wasn’t already full of his screams.   
  
And his lips were on my ear, sliding down my cheek, his hand on my neck pulled my face roughly to the rear. And I was kissing him, his lips tasted sweet, his tongue, even better. Like Summerwine and Cedarwood.  
  
I sharp gasp escaped his lock on my mouth. His fingers were slipping into me. I was wet. So wet. My clit throbbing. His mouth opened wider accommodating my fervor. And the sound of my gasp. My scream as I felt him push into me from behind. I had no idea when he’d had the time to unbuckle his belt. But he was in and I couldn’t breath. I had no idea... no idea.. that there was something other than his mouth that could make me feel this good. That could make me feel so good.   
  
He was grinding now, rocking. Pumping into me with a brutal fervor.  
  
And I loved it.  
  
IloveditIloveditIloveditIloveditIlovedit  
  
I _loved it_.  
  
His cadence quickening. My hips attempting to keep up. My hips, no longer under my control. My mouth on his, biting, my nails scratching, his hands bruising my hips. Sending my cunt back to his cock with lascivious force. Every time we met, a wet and lewd sound hit my ears. It was perfect. _Fuckkkk_ it was _perfect_. My eyes began to well. My hands clutched helplessly at the bedsheets. It was igniting a fire in me. I could not breath. I could not see, but a smile.  
  
A smile was forming on my lips.  
  
He flipped me over. Pinned my hands up. Pumping into me at a rapid and satisfying pace. Forcing my cunt to his cock mercilessly. And I was finally looking into his eyes.  
  
Those eyes...  
  
I was mesmerized. I was smiling. I could finally look at him. I was finally able to give him this. My gift. In that room. Where it all began. His hand met my neck again. His lips crashing into mine. His breathy pants morphing into furious and masculine grunts.   
  
And I could not breath.  
  
My eyes started to become unfocused. I could not hear. Only the wet slap of our dampened flesh meeting each other. He was thrusting harder  
  
And harder  
  
And harder  
  
And harder.  
  
Attempting to break me. I was beginning to seize up. Beginning to lock up. Beginning to clutch at his back, his hair, his chest. Beginning to scream. Felt his lips crash into mine again, probably to silence me. And then it hit.  
  
My peak.  
  
I was done. Spent. No longer in control of myself, my words... nothing. He slammed into me twice more. My muscles contracting against his wet length. It sent him over the edge. My body raised up, my back arched from the force of his hands, pressing my body to his, fusing me to him.  
  
And Warmth.  
  
All I felt was warmth.  
  
Hotter than the fire in the corner that blew like dragons breath. His lips were pressed hard against mine. I could feel all of him. His cuts, his muscles, his heat. _My godsss_.... My eyes lodged in the back of my head.  
  
I saw white.  
  
I could hear. in the midst of his growls and my panting... I could hear my name...  
  
_‘Godssss Sansa’_ he crooned.  
  
I smiled. For the hundredth time. A drunken smile. A smile of a madman...  
  
‘ _Sansa.....’  
_  
And it made it all the better.  
  
So much sweeter.  
  
Knowing it’s _my_ name he cries, when he comes.  
******************************************************************************************  
Judge me, if you’d like. But I told you. The gods: The old, the new, The Seven...  
  
The Stranger.  
  
They protect only the ambitious. Only the strong. Only the ones who lack the fear in taking what belonged to them.  
  
And I took what I wanted.  
  
Now you know my secret.  
  
One of the many I keep locked away, in that hidden place between my dreams and my nightmares. I double check my locks at night, so no one can break in.  
  
You wouldn’t like what you’d find.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all!
> 
> Okay.  
> First things first. Sansa. Sansa and her.... volatility. She the protagonist in this one. The main character. A rather unreliable narrator...
> 
> A madwoman
> 
> And you've just followed her descent.
> 
> Hope you all made it out of there alive ;). (Funny thing is, I had Ramin Djawadi's 'Hear me roar' playing in the background on my Itunes at a few points as I wrote this lol.)
> 
> But seriously. I didn't want her to be admirable in this one. I didn't want her to be perfect. I wanted her to be human. Flawed, like so many of us are. Visceral, like our emotions often make us. Relatable. A perfect blank canvas when adding the taint of a deadly sin. I hope I did justice in showing just how this particular one [Envy] can be so destructive. 
> 
> More vice to come!
> 
> As usual, for all of you who've taken the time to read this, thank you!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy(ed)


End file.
